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“Henry will take you home, little girl.”
He hangs up and puts the phone back into his pocket.
When I get home, I walk into my workroom and stare at the twisted pieces of wood, the old doll. I pick up my nail gun, then set it down and cover my face with my hands.
I don’t want to work on the piece I’d planned.
There’s nothing in my head except the rage that rips open my veins, the ache in my heart, and the lump that relentlessly chokes me.
I feel dirty and sad. I hate Smith and Orion, and most of all myself for giving in and starting something with him tonight, all so he could just dump me on my ass.
I stare at the pieces again, then get busy channeling all of that anger and rejection and defeat into my new piece. I pour all my emotions into my work, and dawn’s light starts to creep in when I finally sit back to admire what I’ve created.
It’s a nightmare with jagged edges that reeks of the ugly emotions plaguing me. I’ve got nails sticking out of all sides which I’ve weaved into the doll’s hair. I’ve turned the twisted piece of wood into a horrible claw that seems to be snatching hearts and souls. There’s paint and smooth spots that I’ve sanded down and painted with resin that needs to dry.
It’s me and pain and Orion. It’s beautiful in its ugliness, and I can’t stop staring at it.
“Oh my God,” Harley gasps from behind me. “Now that’s art.”
I wake up later that day and check my phone before anything else. Nothing from Smith. Not that I expect to hear from him. And nothing from Orion, either.
That… hurts.
It’s expected, but it hurts, anyway.
Just one text from Trent. He sent it last night to remind me that the appointment we have is still on. With everything that’s happened, I’d completely forgotten about it.
When I get to the meeting spot, a swank place on the Bowery, Trent hugs me tight. “I’ve missed you, darling girl. So many meetings, unfortunately.”
I look around at the rich, artsy types, hoping to see Orion. But he’s not there. Not anywhere. Worse, I don’t feel him. Maybe he really is done with me. Maybe?—
I stop myself from finishing the thought. Going into that dark place isn’t going to help. Instead, I show Trent the new piece through the pictures Harley took and sent me.
He frowns at the screen. “I don’t think this is right for the show. Another one, perhaps?”
My heart sinks into my shoes, but then he suddenly asks about Miami, and everything in me goes on high alert.
“Were you supposed to come on the yacht, too?” I don’t want to suspect him. But right now, feeling so alone without the watchful eye of Orion so close, I can’t help myself.
“Me?” He laughs. “Brutus has been trying to get me to join for years. There was the party, though. I’m sorry I missed it.” He frowns. “You look down, but I’ll tell you what… why don’t we fly to my property in Arizona? It’s where I ultimately keep the pieces I love, the ones I collect. There’s a place for a Lavender Steele original, and I want you to experience the power of the pieces I’ve got. You’ll love it.” He grins. “In the meantime, I’ve got some people joining us. Heavyweights in the art world.” He stands from the table and waves.
I think he says something, too.
But I can’t be sure, because above the noise of the place, his voice is a ringing sea of alarms in my ears. A clanging that rocks me to my core and sends a surge of adrenaline through me.
I look over my shoulder and recognize Haydyn, Brutus… and the man who pulled my hair.
My blood runs cold.
Trent looks at me and asks, “What’s wrong?”
But his words are muffled, like I’m hearing them with my head submerged in a tub of water.
“I need the bathroom.”
Without a word, I grab my bag and hurry toward the sign for restrooms. On my way, I’ll just ask the staff the best way to sneak out. There’s got to be some kind of back exit, even if it’s through to the apartment building above the restaurant.
I don’t care. I need to get the hell away from here. From them.
